


Just Crazy About Me

by TreacleTeacups



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Horcrux Influence, M/M, Soulmates, Ugly Crazy Love, Unhealthy Relationships, alternative ending, i guess, idk what I'm doing guys, two psychos in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTeacups/pseuds/TreacleTeacups
Summary: He’s so crazyJust crazyAbout meCrazy, feral, ugly love
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 23
Kudos: 437





	Just Crazy About Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello starshines! I've had this sitting around for a bit and thought, screw it, might as well publish it. This is kind of a song-fic (I guess? Idk) about ugly, crazy love. I'm kind of at a loss on how to tag this, so let me know if there's anything you think I missed that I should add.
> 
> If you feel like looking up the song, I got the lyrics from 'Ugly Boys' by Die Antwoord. I also listened to 'Enter the Ninja' by Die Antwoord while writing this so kind of sets the tone. Hopefully the crazy unhealthy love aspect is as well represented in the story as in the songs, though I know it's not everyone cup of tea so proceed with caution. It's a bit indulgently dark and I hope you enjoy. Lemmie know what you think :)
> 
>  **Please note:** This story takes place in the age of consent, by which I meant 17 years old as per the Wizarding Maturity Standard.

Harry is eleven years old. He has seen monsters before – or, that’s what little Harry thinks.

But the thing he sees in the underground chambers of the Third Floor Corridor is unlike anything Harry has ever witnessed.

Harry’s eyed widen as Quirrell turns around, a turban falling to the floor in a serpentine spool. His heart races as Voldemort is exposed.

Voldemort speaks and writhes and Harry fights it because he doesn’t want to die, not like this.

When Harry wakes in the Hospital Wing, Harry finds his mind is different. Something has happened, Voldemort did something. It’s like a switch has flipped, turning on a light and illuminating a part of Harry he never knew existed.

Something dark and ugly in his soul raises its head, interested.

* * *

_He’s just_

_So crazy –_

* * *

Tom Riddle greedily eats the life of Ginny Weasley. Harry stares at the boy, only a few years older than himself, turning to the diary with fascination. Harry lifts the basilisk fang in his hand to his line of sight, sluggish blood dripping from his hands in the pattern of his veins, his eyes widening in realization.

Curious, Harry brings the fang down on the diary viciously, turning to watch with wide, impressionable eyes as the boy-Voldemort screams and falls to his knees. Voldemort vanishes, connection broken.

Harry’s mind tingles, chest shudders, watching the diary spurt black blood.

That little monster, deep in Harry’s psyche, first drawn to attention a year before – it _breathes_.

* * *

_So rough and tough_

_Don’t care about anything –_

* * *

Harry gasps as he is tied to a tombstone, hands curling helplessly around air. The little rat animagus grumbles and cringes, useless except for the instructions hissed to him by a bloody baby corpse. Harry cries out as a ritual knife digs into his arm, his blood flowing freely.

Borne of a ritual ( _blood, ash, flesh_ ), the Monster rises with the flair of a demonic resurrection.

The creature living in Harry’s soul rises to the surface, dormant after two years. Harry blinks in surprise as the pain in his arm – it doesn’t go away, but it is pushed aside. Instead, Harry focuses on the taunting beast in front of him and Harry’s brain tingles.

The beast bearing Voldemort’s soul turns to Harry and Harry leans forward, straining against his braided restraints, watching the thing with wide eyes. It is like the years before, yet _different_. It changes with each year, but Harry would recognize it anywhere.

 _Voldemort_.

Harry breaks free and then he is battling the beast with breathless amazement, their wands exploding into seafoam magic, his family speaking, whispering tender secrets, but Harry can’t bear to pay them even half a mind.

In front of him, Voldemort is furious. And it is _glorious._ Harry tastes the fury like its his own, it burns burns _burns_ and Harry chases the feeling.

Harry breaks free, grabbing Cedric’s cold wrist in one hand and the colder Triwizard cup in the other. Harry watches Voldemort as he is sucked into the portkey void, the little monster in Harry’s soul forcing through to the surface, eyes glittering in delight as Voldemort scream in rage.

The little monster encourages Harry on, makes him angry when Mad-Eye Moody touches his cut arm and bare his teeth at the polyjuiced man, hates the reverence in the man’s voice.

He feels like screaming, _He took my blood, not yours!_

Harry isn’t sure why.

* * *

_He’s so crazy_

_Just crazy_

_About me_

* * *

Harry growls angrily at his friends, the friends who _left him_ with the Dursleys all summer long while refusing to write to him and hiding in a house with his godfather. Friends who knew the Fidelius’d house would protect him just as well as any blood ward and yet agreed with Dumbledore’s insistence on _inflicting_ the Dursleys on Harry.

Harry is having dreams, long and annoying dreams. He finds he doesn’t care what Voldemort is doing, he is just so angry. He can’t sleep well, he’s bitter all the time, and Dumbledore refuses to show his face, even when Harry has a tantrum to end all tantrums.

Professor Umbridge really is the icing on the cake at this point.

Harry angrily carves into his own hand with the blood quill, _I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies –_

The pain hurts but it is grounding, it feeds the angry little beast inside. 

And when Harry goes to the Ministry of Magic looking for his godfather, he is still really too angry with his friends to bring them along, and yet he does.

His godfather is dead and the numbing pain of losing the last person in the world who was ever a hundred percent in his corner – it numbs that spark of fascination when he faces off with Voldemort, makes him feral and cold. Dumbledore takes over when Harry feels Voldemort flood his mind – _you monster monster monster –_ and Harry screams and rages once he is back in Hogwarts, tearing down Dumbledore’s office and wishing the old man would just _do something_ instead of staring at Harry with those horrible sad eyes.

* * *

_I just get so emotional_

_When I'm down and feeling weak_

_With tears streaming down my cheeks_

* * *

Harry follows Malfoy, for lack of something to do. Or maybe to catch a glimpse of that Dark Mark. Or maybe to _punish_ Malfoy, to make the little ferret _squirm._

Harry still dreams but they are distant, not as vivid and harsh as last year. Harry is _angry_ , burningly _angry_ with Voldemort. Voldemort holds Harry at arm’s distance mentally and that makes Harry so fucking _angry. Fucking face me, coward._ The monster inside him _screams_ in savage rage _._

He lashes out at Voldemort in his mind’s eye, ripping off the monster’s face with his nails, kills him a hundred different ways. Harry overfeeds that dark and vengeful monster living in his heart, the little beast growing exponentially as Harry nurtures it.

Harry feels his mental wards ripped down by Snape and he carefully builds them back up each night as he recovers, brick by brick, the material of the walls charcoal black and leaving residue on everything it touches, sooty and wet. Every surface in Harry’s mind is dark, drowning, black.

When Harry watches Dumbledore drink that potion in a chamber of death, watches the man grow weak and pitiful and something in Harry’s soul grows satisfied. It looks down at Dumbledore, watches the man revert to childish whining, and it _purrs_ again.

Harry holds the locket in his hands and it feels like _nothing_. It doesn’t feel like the diary did nor how Voldemort feels when Harry faces off with him. It feels _empty_. Harry wants to scream, instead he takes Dumbledore back to Hogwarts.

And then they’re in a tower, Snape slashing his wand in Dumbledore’s direction, Harry hiding under a set of stairs under his invisibility cloak, watching Dumbledore tumble off the ledge.

Harry bares his teeth, savage, _angry_ – but he’s not sure at _who._

Voldemort tells Harry to give up.

Harry refuses on principle.

* * *

_So rough and tough_

_Don’t care ‘bout anything –_

_Don’t care ‘bout anything but me_

* * *

A year of death and madness goes by. Harry finds the right locket – _yes, horcrux,_ that dark voice curls in his mind like smoke – and he finds a sword, finds a cup, finds a diadem, finds a snake.

Breaks them all because they’re fragments and they’re not _right._ They’re not what Harry _wants._

Harry is standing in front of Voldemort. Harry is barefooted. The Resurrection Ring weighs Harry’s ring finger down, his invisibility cloak warm on his shoulders, the Elder Wand twitching in Voldemort’s fingers.

“Kill me,” Harry says, challenging, grinning, the little beastie inside roaring and pacing with vengeful excitement.

The entirety of humanity is at his back. Out here on the edge of the world, it’s just Voldemort and Harry. The world spins on its axis, threatening to throw them off.

Voldemort pauses and lowers his wand. He is looking at Harry through narrowed eyes, a moment of astonishment there and then gone.

“ _I know what you are,”_ Voldemort hisses in Parseltongue, the sibilant words curling and tasting.

Harry laughs, then. “ _You know nothing about me,”_ Harry replies in kind, their shared language suddenly heavy on his tongue. Harry’s never spoken Parseltongue to another person and it makes the monster in his heart, the _horcrux_ , sings out to Voldemort. It wants wants _wants._

“ _It likes you,”_ Voldemort is then saying, Parseltongue crooning, the monster cocking his head. “ _It tells me you like me too. No, that is not right. It tells me that you_ worship _me.”_

Harry’s eyes widen and then narrow sharply. He bares his teeth. “ _It is a liar, then,”_ Harry answers, feet parting slightly as he prepares to battle.

 _“It says you like monsters, that you want to sink your teeth into me_ , _that you crave me,_ ” Voldemort laughs. _“Come here, my horcrux. Let me show you what I’d do with you in my arms.”_

Harry feels a surge of _something_ at Voldemort’s curl of fingers, beckoning him forward. A calling.

He _wants._

“You’ll have to kill me if you want to touch me,” Harry replies, stance feral as he drops low and prepares to curse Voldemort.

“I will never let anything happen to you, Harry,” Voldemort whispers and Harry leans back on his heels as if punched in the gut. “You want my protection. You _need_ my protection. Look at how badly they have treated you, my little darling.”

Harry stares at the monster in front of him with wide eyes, breathless.

No one has ever promised Harry this, to hold him and rip him apart until there is just _him_ left, to _protect him_. Harry knows Voldemort is only offering because he sees the little orphan in Harry’s heart, the touch-starved loneliness, the sadness.

Voldemort can see the ferocious little monster living inside Harry, barely suppressed and visage of Golden Boy holding on by a thread.

 _“Come here, my sweetheart,”_ Voldemort whispers, a sly smile curling his lips, an unholy fire lit in his eyes. _“I’ll give you anything and everything you have ever wanted.”_

* * *

_Everything's going to be okay_

_I can make your problems go away_

_You say the sweetest things_

_Like material stuff don’t mean a thing_

_But you take care of me to keep you safe_

* * *

Harry lashes out, suddenly furious by the temptation of the empty promise. Voldemort dodges, side stepping the beam of red. He takes a step forward. Harry holds his place.

Another curse flies from Harry’s wand, spinning and curling, too difficult to dodge. Harry’s not aware of casting, but his wand _sings._

Voldemort slashes the Elder Wand down, the curse flying off to the side.

Voldemort takes another step forward.

Harry refuses to give up ground. He hurls curse after curse in Voldemort’s direction, summoning years of defensive training. Everything he gives, Voldemort bats away. Voldemort keeps stepping forward, Harry baring his teeth and eyes clashing with the monster in his way.

Harry raises his wand for a final cast and Voldemort steps forward quickly – catches his wrist. Harry’s eyes widen, surprised by Voldemort’s abrupt nearness. He looks at the large pale hand wrapped around his thin arm and he yelps as he is yanked forward. Harry stares up at Voldemort as he’s bundled in tight to the monster’s chest, the monster’s jack-o'-lantern grin sharper than a razor.

“You aren’t even _trying_ , Harry _,”_ Voldemort laughs breathlessly, impossibly pleased. “I will take care of you, little horcrux,” Voldemort promises softly, long spindly fingers pressing on either side of Harry’s face, thumbs pressing under Harry’s tired eyes.

Harry is distantly aware their wands have dropped to the ground by their bare feet, useless now.

“Better than you took care of the others?” Harry asks at last, whispering, voice breaking as he stares up at Voldemort with wary eyes, not trusting – not daring to _hope._ “Because if you’re going to hide me or discard me – just fucking kill me now.”

“My sweet little horcrux,” Voldemort breathes as he leans down to press his forehead against Harry’s scarred forehead. “I will keep you by my side for eternity. Let me _worship you._ ”

The words sound like a proposal and it hurts with how good it feels, burning him down to ash. Harry’s breathing has slowed. For the first time in his _life,_ he feels safe.

Harry stares up at the beast, soul bare, monster within himself swelling, bursting free and Harry _snaps,_ everything that has happened suddenly worth nothing. He wants to feel safe, wants Voldemort to protect him, wants run away, _needs to be saved._

“Help me,” Harry asks suddenly, _pleading,_ his fingers curling around Voldemort’s wrists as the monster holds Harry’s face. “Tom, save me.”

To Harry’s relief, _Voldemort does._

* * *

_Respect me_

_Receive my protection_

_I'm always right by your side_

_Like a weapon_

_Love me_

_I grant you there will be love_

* * *

Deep in a castle, far _far_ away from Hogwarts, Harry and Voldemort share a large throne.

Voldemort’s legs sprawl widely as he rests in the massive throne. He is gazing at Harry with the smugness of a conquering warlord, decadently indulgent. Harry’s knees are digging into the throne on either side of Voldemort’s hips, more than enough room on the massive throne, seated gently on Voldemort’s lap. Small hands press against the sides of Voldemort’s face as Harry gently traces his thumbs under Voldemort’s blood-red eyes, fingertips ghosting over the man’s skull. Harry touches that odd serpentine nose, trails down to bloodless lips.

Harry is exploring the beast and Voldemort allows it, letting Harry press against him and examine Voldemort’s inhuman features with hedonic amusement.

Voldemort presses a curled knuckle under Harry’s chin, lifting Harry’s face up. Harry’s eyes flicker from Voldemort’s lips to crimson eyes, the gaze simmering and enigmatic. Harry feels small like this; he is petite compared to Voldemort’s inhuman frame but right now he feels _engulfed,_ surrounded by the heavy cloak of Voldemort’s dark magic.

Harry just wants to _curl up_ in this magic, roll around in it, and he sighs against Voldemort’s face, eyes flickering back down onto Voldemort’s lips. Harry gently presses his palms against the side of Voldemort’s neck, hands sliding under the beast’s jaw, around his neck. The pads of Harry’s thumbs rest on inhumanly pale cheeks, guiding Voldemort forward until their lips touch.

Harry is breathless, mind static, heart stuttering as Voldemort’s hands wrap around his small waist. Until now, Voldemort has given Harry all control of the pace. But now, _now,_ the cool press of lips explodes in world-destroying heat, a tongue delving into Harry’s mouth. Harry is _plundered,_ Voldemort taking the spoils of war and Harry keening as he arches against Voldemort in helpless need. Harry cries against Voldemort’s lips as sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes rolling back in his head as Voldemort rolls Harry’s hips, guiding Harry to grind down on the hardness between his thighs, and Harry is whispering reverent prayers against Voldemort’s lips.

Voldemort pulls back, his lips dripping Harry’s blood, Harry gripping the broad shoulders under his hands as he steadies himself.

“ _My sweet horcrux, all mine_ ,” Voldemort whispers in soft praise, amused and smug and feral, hands tight against Harry’s hips.

Harry smiles down indulgently at Voldemort, the man’s twisted features striking.

Harry doesn’t mind Voldemort is ugly. In fact, Harry rather likes it. Likes holding a monster between his thighs, likes how Voldemort goes _crazy_ for him, likes feeling small and outpowered and outgunned. Likes perching on Voldemort’s lap. Likes being indulged with sharp nails and sharper teeth and soft praise.

“I love you,” Harry whispers, exultant, pressing his scarred forehead against Voldemort’s, drowning in Voldemort’s dark gaze as he offers his thoughts up as proof of his adulation.

“Yes, I know, my darling,” Voldemort laughs, bringing Harry’s lips back to his.

It’s crazy, but Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

_Yes I love my ugly boy_

_So rough and tough_

_Yes I just love him_

_Cause he’s so crazy_

_Just crazy about me_

_Don’t care ‘bout anything –_

_Don’t care ‘bout anything but me_

_And I just love him cause he's so crazy_

_Just crazy about me_

**_I love him_ **

**Author's Note:**

> ♡


End file.
